God Rest You
by Taliesin Stormlaw
Summary: After the defeat of Voldemort and his followers, Harry retreats from the wizarding world to recover at his own pace. Can he find healing and solace in the Muggle world? Warnings: Slash romance.
1. Chapter 1

**God Rest You**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the Harry Potter stories, its plot, characters, places, or any recognisable features in this story. Only unrecognisable plot features and characters are (hopefully) mine. This is written purely for entertainment purposes, and I am not benefiting financially from it.

**Warnings: **Harry/MuggleSlash, because I've never seen one before. Probably some variety of spoilers for DH as well, but no epilogue, and I will be twisting it all a bit. And there will be some overt religiosity, but I assure you, I'm not trying to convert anyone. I disagree with that.

And for those out there who disagree with homosexuality on religious grounds, and believe that you can't be both homosexual and religious (the 'gays will burn in hell –turn to Jesus!' type), I'm both gay and a confirmed Christian in the mainstream Church of England.

xxx

The sky turned grey with dawn as Harry approached his adversary across the field of battle. Voldemort stood on the steps of the castle of Hogwarts, surrounded by his Death Eaters. He had gathered all manners of dark creatures, and Dementors in their thousands glided across the lake to join their new master. Harry stood with the students of Hogwarts, the teachers, the Order of the Phoenix, and all those who opposed the Dark. It was still pitiful force compared with the massed ranks of Voldemort's supporters. The world seemed to lose all colour as the Dementors drew closer, and the air grew cold, Harry's breath condensing in front of his face. His mind clouded with doubt and sorrow. He saw the faces of all who had been killed by Voldemort and his followers, who seemed to cry out to him in pain, and his mother began to scream. _No, not Harry! Please not Harry! Take me instead!_ Harry shook his head, trying to clear it, and raised his wand.

"Ready!" he shouted, as loud as he could. His voice seemed to break the forces of the Light out of their Dementor-induced trance, and they all followed suit, raising their wands. Harry stepped forward and turned to his allies, putting his wand to his throat and magically amplifying his voice.

"My friends," he called to those before him. "Let it now be the day that we overturn this evil once and for all. Join with me, and think of the death of Voldemort, the redemption of friends and family, the avenging of loved ones and the saving of future generations. Hold the faces of all those whom who love dearly in your minds. Cast your spell for them. Fuel it with your love for them. Cast down those who hate with your love. Now!" And he turned to face the enemy, and in unison with the forces of the Light, cried his last hope to the heavens: "_EXPECTO PATRONUM!" _It sounded as a great roar, echoing through the forest, resounding against the walls of the castle. Harry's wand began to shake violently, a great light growing at its tip. He remembered all who had fallen – they no longer wept, but cheered him on, about to be avenged. His mother no longer screamed, but he felt as if engulfed in a warm, loving embrace. A tear rolled down his cheek. And with a sudden thunder of magic, the greatest force he had every summoned erupted from his wand. The great silver stag exploded into being, engulfed in a fiery white nimbus. It tossed its bright head, swinging its antlers in challenge. It charged forward, across the lawn towards the castle. All along the line Patronuses were forming, and hurtled towards the Death Eaters. Ron's terrier joined Harry's stag from the left, and Hermione's otter swam through the air from the right. Together, the wave of Patronuses charged the dark cloud of Dementors, which fled away from the wall of light. They flew as fast as they could towards the ranks of Voldemort's followers, and in their desperation not to be engulfed by the Patronuses, they tried to bolster their strength by feeding on the Death Eaters.

Harry gasped in relief when the cold crushing hold of the Dementors vanished. Through the haze of light emitted by their Patronuses he could see the Death Eaters beginning to fall under the assault of the Dementors. None could produce a Patronus to save themselves, and were at the mercy of the life-sucking power of the Dementors. They all fell, unconscious, dead or dying from sorrow. Then the Dementors converged on their master. Lord Voldemort gasped in horror, desperately casting spells to save himself. But he was no longer human enough to bring forth emotions of love and happiness, and no Patronus was forthcoming. As one, the thousand Dementors began to administer their Kiss, still trying to gather enough strength to defeat the Patronuses. Voldemort's narrow frame shook violently, and he screamed as what remained of his soul was torn from his body. He raised his arms, clawing at the air above, his eyes gaping wide. He gasped for breath and choked, and screamed again, grasping at his face, before collapsing on the ground.

On the other side of the field, Harry too screamed. The part of Voldemort's soul that was within him was also being ripped out. He cried in agony, falling to the floor and convulsing in pain. Hermione and Ron were shouting his name but he could barely hear them. His body felt like it was on fire as the fragment of Voldemort's soul was forcibly removed. To Harry, it was almost as bad as having his own, whole soul taken. He screamed and writhed, unable to bear the pain.

Harry awoke screaming and sweating, the shouts of his friends ringing in his ears. He was sitting up in bed, the duvet in disarray around him. He wiped his hand against his damp forehead, pushing his went fringe away from his eyes. He stood up, getting out of bed, and groped around blindly for his glasses. When he found them, and after turning on the light, he took off his pyjamas and pulled on his clothes. He put on his coat and shoes, and went out of the house. He needed some fresh air to think. It was too stuffy inside.

The snow had been falling thickly, but had eased off now. Thick whiteness blanketed the streets of the small town, covering every surface. The sky was still black in the very early morning, and stars glimmered in its great clear expanse. Harry shivered as he walked, despite his thick coat, at the strange forms of the shadows cast by the moonlight. His thoughts were troubled, and he barely noticed where his feet took him as he wandered. He turned a corner and stopped dead in his tracks. He had reached the edge of the town, and the road curved off, leading to a small church atop a snowy hill. The church was lit from within, beautiful colours emitted from through its stained glass windows. He could faintly make out singing from within. He thought he recognised the song – a carol of some sort. Intrigued, Harry followed the road to the archway that led into the churchyard. He hurried past the graves that seemed to leer at him, but his fear was forgotten when he entered the warmth of the church. He had entered from the back, so no one noticed his arrival. The small congregation, who couldn't have numbered more than twenty, were all stood, and singing a sacred hymn.

"_O, tidings of comfort and joy", _they sang_._ Harry didn't quite agree with them, given his current state of mind, but he took a seat in an empty pew at the back. The service lasted another fifteen minutes, and consisted of a number of other carols, some of which he recognised from television programmes at the Dursley's, after which the vicar shuffled to the lectern, whence she gave a short sermon on the subject of struggles. Harry didn't think much of what the vicar was saying, doubting very much that most members of the congregation had ever _struggled_ particularly, but he appreciated the gesture all the same. When the service was over, the congregation, which was made up mostly of ageing men and women, shuffled to the back of the church, ostensibly for tea and biscuits to warm them for their journey home. A couple came over to Harry, introduced themselves, inquired after his thoughts on the service, and expressed their most ardent wish that he come again for another service. Attendance was obviously in decline, and the parishioners were eager for some new blood. He was greeted by other parishioners, all of whom were very welcoming and eager that he come again.

By far the youngest member of the congregation was a young man of about Harry's age. He had short and slightly wavy light brown hair, and had very dark brown eyes. He wore jeans and a white tee-shirt, over the top of which he had a red hooded jumper, unzipped at the front. He had a calm and honest face, and was a bit more than just a little bit handsome, but Harry was still wary of the company of his friends, let alone strangers.

"Hey," he said as he approached. "I'm Josh Peverell." He held out his hand to be shaken. Harry barely withheld a choking splutter at the name. Was he a wizard? He didn't look like one. But, then again, Harry mused, neither do I.

"H…Harry Potter," he managed, and shook the proffered hand. Josh smiled, but other than that, Harry couldn't detect any other emotions. No wild pointing, no wide-eyed surprise, no looking hungrily at his scar. Muggle then. Hermione _had_ said that Peverell was extinct in the male line, so the name didn't exist anymore, but it would be just like wizards to forget about squib lines.

"Did you enjoy the service?" Josh asked. It seemed to be the staple question from churchgoers. Perhaps they were all issued with a pamphlet – _'How to successfully welcome heathen newbies.'_

"Yes, thanks," answered. "I haven't much to compare with, though. I've never been to church before."

Josh seemed surprised. "Never? How come?"

"I was brought up by my relatives, who weren't exactly god-fearing." Harry wasn't quite sure why he was being so verbose with a complete stranger. "When I was eleven I went off to boarding school, so I was unable to go then…" Harry trailed off. Boarding school wasn't the only reason why he had been unable to go to _church_, of all things. Just the small matter of the Second Wizarding War.

"Well, I hope you'll come again," said Josh eagerly. Harry might have imagined it, but Josh seemed to have more than the expected level of church-goer enthusiasm for this.

The vicar soon joined the conversation with a mug of coffee, and Harry soon found himself drawn into a philosophical conversation. Josh seemed an ardent debater, and so did the vicar – perhaps she even more so, and Harry felt a little out of his depth. It was enjoyable all the same. The vicar soon left, with a cheery farewell, and Josh turned to Harry.

"So… You had any breakfast yet?"

Harry shook his head.

"Do you fancy coming out to get some?" Josh looked nervous. Even anxious.

Harry restrained himself from laughing at his anxiousness over something as simple as asking someone out, when for years it had been the furthest thing from Harry's mind. He hesitated before he answered, however. _Oh, sod it, _he thought. _Nothing's going to go wrong. It's not as if a Muggle is likely to be in league with the Death Eaters._

"All right," he answered. Josh looked immensely relieved. "Where do you want to go?"

**AN: Hoped you enjoyed it (please, **_**please**_** review to let me know!). More chapters to follow.**

**Please check out my multi-chaptered ongoing AU fic, **_**'The Circle Around the Fire'**_**, if you enjoyed this fic. In it, Harry is abandoned by the Dursleys at age five, but is rescued by a strange old woman, who teaches him mysterious and powerful magic before his arrival at Hogwarts. From pre-Hogwarts to post-Hogwarts. Starting second year at the moment.**


	2. Chapter 2

**God Rest You**

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter 1

**Warnings: **See Chapter 1

Harry climbed out of Josh's battered old mini and gazed through the early morning haze at the small coffee-shop opposite which they had parked. The large window on the building's front had completely fogged up with condensing snow and breath, and Harry could only make out vague shapes and colours behind. Glancing up, he noticed a traditional hanging sign announcing to the world that the shop was called "The Piping Brew", under which was featured a picture of a beaming mug with face and arms, smoking a pipe.

The snow had stopped falling, and was beginning to melt in the light of the rising Sun. Josh led the way across the road, crunching the slush underfoot. While the town was quite small, by Muggle standards, Harry hadn't yet visited this street. It was further afield from his house than he would usually venture.

"They do really good croissants here," said Josh, indicating the café. He said 'croissants' with a very convincing French accent, reminding Harry of the last time he had eaten croissants – at Shell Cottage, the morning he had first awoken from his three-day-long sleep following the final confrontation with Voldemort. Having someone else's soul ripped out of your body really took it out of you.

Josh pushed against the wooden door, the windows of which had also fogged up, and a small silvery tinkle sounded as the door knocked against a set of wind chimes hung on the other side for that purpose. The door swung open to reveal a small, cosy looking coffee-shop, furnished mainly in deep, soft armchairs, interspersed by spindly tables. A couple of other customers were sunk low into the comfortable seating, sipping from large mugs of steaming liquid, and perusing the paper. One also had a generous helping of cake on a plate in front of him. The walls were decorated with an eclectic mix of paintings and posters – so many that the walls were barely visible. A small counter was set back at the rear of the shop, bearing a spectacular array of cakes and pastries on one end. The other end bore a rather old-fashioned till. A middle aged woman, whose greying hair was pulled back into a loose pony-tail, stood behind the counter, and when she saw Josh her face lit up.

"Josh, dear!" she called to him as he and Harry weaved their way through the armchairs to the counter, gradually shedding outdoor layers. "Haven't seen you in a bit!"

"Been busy, Cara," answered Josh, as they leaned across the counter to peck each other on the cheeks. "How're things?"

"Oh, well, you know…" Cara waved her hand in a funny little disparaging gesture. "Big coffee-making corporations are a pain in the backside, but who's to question the ways of the world?" She chuckled, and then seemed to notice Harry for the first time. "So who's this then?" She tilted her head to the side and gave Harry an appraising look.

"Hi, Harry Potter," answered Harry. He held out his hand to shake hers. She took his hand in a surprisingly firm grip, but not overly so. After she released him, she looked at him thoughtfully, drumming her fingers against her chin.

"Hmmm… The name rings a bell for some reason. You been in the newspaper or something?"

_Not any you'll have read, _thought Harry. He shook his head and smiled nervously, and ran his fingers through his hair. An anxious twitch he really must get out of the habit of doing.

Cara's eyes widened in surprise, and pointed at his scar, now exposed from under his fringe. Harry froze in shock. Josh frowned in curiosity.

"I'd recognise _that _scar anywhere!" exclaimed Cara. "You're the boy those funny people on Privet Drive took in." It was Harry's turn for his face to show his surprise. He was taken aback by this blast from the past, but he still appreciated the irony of the Dursleys, who prided themselves above all for their normality, being called _funny_ by anyone.

"Now what was their name…? 'D' something…" Cara was tapping her chin again.

"The Dursleys," supplied Harry.

"Yes, that's it!" said Cara triumphantly, brandishing her hand above her head as if she had just made an impressive goal on the football field. "You're their nephew, right?"

Harry nodded. "So, did you know them?" he asked.

"No, I didn't," sniffed Cara, as if offended to be associated with such people. She brushed non-existent dust from the counter. "I lived at Number 7. Mrs Dursley was always spying on my garden. They didn't really strike me as the parental type, judging by their noisy son. I always wondered why they took you in."

Harry shrugged. "They were my only living relatives," he explained, decidedly briefly.

Cara's face softened. "Oh my Dear, I'm so sorry." She touched his hand lightly across the counter. "Let me get you two some coffee," she said, patting Harry's hand and bustling away from the counter through a door to the left.

Josh's mouth lifted in a slight smile. "Cara thinks coffee solves everything. Let's sit down."

They took the chairs closest to the counter, sinking deeply into the soft furniture. Cara returned with piping hot mugs of coffee, and hurried off again. She was back soon after with a plate of croissants.

Harry and Josh sat in silence, sipping their coffee, until Josh spoke.

"So… how did you get that scar then?"

"Err… in a car crash," answered Harry. "The same one… killed my parents. Sorry, I don't really want to talk about it." He glanced away across the room.

"No, that's ok. I'm sorry." Harry looked back at Josh, who was looking at him anxiously. Harry reassured him with a weak smile.

"So how do you come to find yourself in Penleigh?"

Harry pulled a face. "Things were a bit… difficult," he improvised. "I needed to get some time away."

It was an understatement. The dementors had destroyed Voldemort's soul, but his spiritless husk still remained. Harry hadn't been able to destroy it – he could barely raise his wand against it. Even after a few months, when everyone else was beginning to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives, Harry was stuck in the past, constantly reliving the downfall of his enemy. It had been Luna's idea to take some time away from the wizarding world, somewhere he could live unmolested by reporters and well-wishes, and try to move on. But even Luna hadn't anticipated it taking six months.

Harry noticed that Josh was staring at him from across the table. He shrugged, and Josh blinked.

"Oh, okay," said Josh. The awkward silence hung in the air between them.

xxx

They left the coffee-shop half an hour later, pulling their coats on in preparation for the cold outside. Harry realised that he had actually had a reasonably good time – better than he'd had since Voldemort's fall – at least once conversation turned to matters that didn't involve Harry's past. Josh pulled the door open and stepped outside, holding it open for Harry. The snow on the pavement had hardened to ice, and was slippery underfoot.

"D'you need a lift anywhere?" asked Josh, turning away from the door, where he had been waving goodbye to Cara. But as he spun to face Harry, he slipped on the ice, and fell forward, directly into Harry's arms.

"Careful…" began Harry, before he was momentarily blinded by a bright flash, which was followed closely by a loud _crack_. Harry's head snapped up, scanning up and down the road. It was empty save them and a few parked cars. But the imprints in the snow on the verge across the road from them said otherwise. A single set of footprints, not followed or preceded by any, clarified without doubt the Apparition of a wizard. A wizard who had had a camera.

"Sorry about that," grinned Josh, as he extricated himself from Harry's arms.

"Don't worry." Harry returned the smile, but his mind was really on the photographer.

"So, can I see you again sometime?" asked Josh. His face was again screwed up with the same anxiety with which he had asked Harry out the first time. Harry was beginning to find it endearing.

"Sure," said Harry.

"Okay then!" Josh positively glowed. "Here's my number," he said, scribbling it onto a scrap of paper from his pocket. "Give me a ring." He smiled again, before crossing the road and getting into his car. He glanced back once before driving off.

Harry looked thoughtfully down at the scrap of paper in his hand. He stuffed it into his pocket before carefully making his way across the ice back to his home.

**AN: Thanks to my readers, particularly the reviewers. Please continue to review; it is sustaining, especially constructive criticism. **


	3. Chapter 3

**God Rest You**

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter 1. I don't own the Bible either, although that's pretty obvious.

**Warnings: **See Chapter 1, also in this chapter there will be a bit of a male/male kiss– nothing lemony/smutty at all though. The warning is partly for those who don't wish to read it, and partly to warn you about my probably atrocious first attempt at writing such a scene. Also the bit with Josh discussing homosexuality and religion might sound a bit propaganderish, for which I apologise, but do admit that it is supposed to be propaganda to some extent. Just a little bit (: And one instance of slightly strong language in this chapter as well.

Also apologies to anyone offended by the use of the term 'Old Testament', I was just being consistent with Josh's character as a Christian, and so he was likely to use that term.

Hope you enjoy this chapter.

xxx

The frequency at which Harry bumped into Josh over the few days made him wonder if one of them were stalking the other. He was there when he went to the corner shop for milk, when he went to the post box to deliver Muggle Christmas cards and even when he was rummaging through a rather dusty corner of Penleigh library – a part-time job he had taken up to keep himself occupied. He didn't really need the pittance they paid him, to be honest.

It started snowing again on the Wednesday after Harry had first met Josh. Harry was sat at his kitchen table that morning staring out of the window at the flakes making their lazy way earthward while he pretended to sort through the post. Most of it was pretty boring – a little bit of fan mail from those rare wizards on whose owls the Seeking Charms were powerful enough to overcome the enchantments that Harry had placed to prevent it, various mundane Muggle bills, and a couple of newspapers. He generally ignored all fan mail when it arrived, opting instead to burn it. Despite the overly praising nature of the writing contained therein, it only ever served to depress him. He unfolded the _Daily Prophet_ and spread it unseeing on the table before him, and took a sip of his tea. He frowned slightly when he saw the main headline, which announced that Fenrir Greyback had escaped from Azkaban during the last full moon when the guards had failed to properly restrain him. He put the tea down, and he felt something through the newspaper. Underneath was a final letter, which he pulled out in trepidation. It was of heavy parchment, died pure white with a spell, and the envelope was ornately, but tastefully decorated with stylised vines and flowers. His name was written in silver calligraphy on the front. He opened it carefully, and took out a single sheet of parchment. Similar calligraphy was written on this card, which announced in traditional wizarding style:

_Hermione Jean Granger and Ronald Bilius Weasley extend their invitation to_

_Harry James Potter_

_that he might honour them by his presence at their wedding, and that he might witness them bonded for life._

It then went on to inform Harry of the location and date of the event. Harry placed the invitation down, sighing. He put his head into his hands. He was supposed to be Ron's best man at the wedding, yet so far had done very little to help its preparation.

He noticed a small note that had been in the same envelope as the invitation. Picking it up, he noticed it was in Hermione's neat handwriting.

_Harry,_

_How are you doing? It's been a long time since we've heard from you. I know Ron's keen to discuss things about the wedding, so it'd be good if you could write to him when you can. Just make sure there's nothing I would disapprove of at the stag night. I'm sure I can trust you. Look forward to the next time we see you._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

Harry smiled weakly at Hermione's attempts to lighten the mood. Things were a bit awkward between them at the moment – Hermione wasn't exaggerating when she said it had been a long time since they had seen each other. Then he noticed Hermione's tentative postscript.

_PS. You're welcome to bring a guest to the wedding, if you want. Just let us know in advance so we can arrange seating at the reception and stuff._

Harry sighed again. He knew that Hermione was of the opinion that a good romance solved most things. He set the note down on the table next to the invitation, and picked up his own parchment and quill to start writing a reply. He soon lost focus, however, and his eyes started to drift over to the window again, when something caught his eye. His name was peeking at him from a page of the _Prophet_, a not uncommon occurrence, and he usually wouldn't like whatever was written. Despite this he picked up the newspaper, smoothing it out in front of him, and began, against his better judgement, to read.

_**Harry Potter spotted in Muggle Town**_

_The Boy Who Lived was seen last week in the company of a Muggle, in the Muggle town of Penleigh. Our reclusive saviour, who led our forces against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named last year, hadn't been seen by anyone outside of his personal acquaintance since that time. We at the _Daily Prophet_ were beginning to wonder if he were avoiding us! _

Harry snorted at this. When had he ever not avoided the press? Glancing back up at the article's heading, he checked the reporter. It was written by someone whom he had never heard of, which didn't surprise him in the slightest. The previous chief Harry-Hunter (the name he had secretly given to the reporters who followed him), Rita Skeeter, had for some reason stopped writing anything slanderous against him, and had become somewhat of an ally in the press, avoiding writing anything sensationalist about him. He scanned the rest of the passage, and eventually came to a photograph of himself, continually catching Josh in his arms, who continually slipped on the ice into them.

The article continued below the image.

_What do we think about this, dear readers? Are we to believe that the Boy-Who-Lived, defeater of You-Know-Who, and Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelor for sixth months straight, is in fact _gay_? What a shock and disappointment that would be for all those fans of his who are determined to become his wife at some point in the future. We shouldn't presumptively out him to the population, and we certainly don't want to pry, _(Harry snorted) _but we're allowed to be curious. And who's the lucky guy who Harry is catching like such a gentleman? No one here at the _Daily Prophet _recognises him, so is he a Muggle? We will make it our duty to keep you updated._

On that note, the article ended. Harry groaned, chucking the paper over his shoulder and letting his head hit the table. He knew his seclusion wasn't going to last. To be perfectly honest, he was slightly surprised that it had taken the _Daily Prophet_ this long to comment on his sexuality; he had, after all, realised it as long ago as his fifth year at Hogwarts. He was suddenly very glad he had such loyal friends – he wasn't sure that he would have been able to cope with his sexuality being leaked to the _Prophet_ at a time when he wasn't even certain himself, and with so much that was going on. But now they knew. He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. It wasn't fair of him to drag Josh into all this nonsense.

And that was why he waited, uncertain, for the rest of the week before ringing him. He received a few letters from his friends the next day, asking if he were all right following the article. He decided to write replies to all, for which he was rather proud of himself. None of his replies were particularly long – those to Luna and Ron and Hermione had been slightly longer – but it was the thought that counted.

That Friday found Harry rummaging around in his coat pocket. He sifted through the old tissues and sweet wrappers, until eventually his fingers closed around the object of his search. He extricated the scrap of paper on which Josh had written his number in an almost calligraphic hand that reminded Harry of the writing on the letters from Hogwarts. He picked up his phone and began to type the number in, rustling the paper between his fingers. He hesitated, waiting slightly too long and the phone forgot the number he had just typed and reverted to the dialling tone. _Stupid unreliable technology_, thought Harry, annoyed, punching in the number again and pressing the call button before realising what he was doing. Josh picked up on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Josh?" asked Harry.

"Yeah, that's me. Is that…"

"Hi Josh, it's Harry." He began to scrunch and un-scrunch the paper he was holding.

"Hi Harry!" Harry could almost hear the smile in Josh's voice. "How're you?"

"Yeah I'm good," replied Harry. _Liar_, said his brain. "And you?"

"Great thanks," answered Josh.

"I was wondering… are you free at some point over the weekend to, maybe, go for a meal or something?" Harry's face contorted in embarrassment at how ridiculous he sounded. _Get a grip_, he told himself. _Josh isn't a Dementor_. He grinned slightly at that, before sobering immediately when it brought up memories he'd rather not have, especially with the horrible irony that this particular memory brought up now. He hadn't been aware that Dementors could be disguised in human form, but what remained of Voldemort's followers had done, and had used it to their advantage to try to take revenge against Harry. He'd never forget the awful image of the disgusting Dementor bursting out of the crumbling mockery of Ginny Weasley's body as it leaned forward to embrace him.

"Yeah sure," replied Josh, breaking Harry from his reverie. "How's tomorrow sound?"

"Err, great," said Harry, "I'll pick you up around seven?" He was glad that he had learned to drive in the past six months, if the real reason had been only to keep him distracted. "I know this restaurant… I'll reserve a table, it's nothing too fancy," he finished lamely.

"Sure, see you at seven tomorrow then," said Josh. He gave Harry his address, then announced a cheery goodbye before putting the phone down.

Harry smiled nervously despite himself. He was looking forward to tomorrow.

xxx

Sitting in the restaurant, rubbing his sweaty palms against his trouser legs, Harry wasn't sure what he had been looking forward to. This was the first time he'd done anything like this. Josh had just gone to the loo, leaving Harry alone at his table to fret. Harry distracted himself by looking at the menu. Josh soon returned, sitting down opposite Harry.

"You decided what you're going to have?" he asked conversationally.

"I think, err… the risotto," answered Harry, running his finger down the menu.

"Hmmm, sounds good," murmured Josh. "Ooh, but this pie looks nice," he rubbed his chin as if engaged in a life-changing decision. "Yes, I think I'll go for that."

They ordered when the waiter came to their table, but as he left he gave them a funny look. Josh didn't seem to notice, and Harry tried to not let it bother him – but he knew he would be worried about it later.

"So how long have you lived here in Penleigh?" asked Harry, making small talk.

"About half a year," answered Josh. "I was at the Royal College of Music in London, but moved here when I finished my course – there was an opening as a music teacher at Penleigh Primary."

Harry realised that he hadn't known what Josh did as a job, and berated himself for being so rude in not asking.

"You're a musician?" he said to cover up his embarrassment. "What do you play?

"The cello," answered Josh. "I'm playing in a concert at the town hall next week. You should come. Do you play any instrument?"

"No," Harry chuckled in response. "They tried to make me learn the recorder in primary school, but I didn't get very far." This was quite an understatement, as Harry had accidentally caused the recorder to explode the moment he put it to his lips, showering the rest of the class with splinters, which all somehow seemed to avoid Harry. Naturally, he had been locked in his cupboard without dinner for that.

"So, did your parents bring you up in the Church?" asked Harry, hoping he'd worded the question appropriately. Josh shook his head.

"Oh no. They're avowed atheists. I started believing in God when I was about fourteen, and my dad still makes fun of me now." He grinned slightly. "At school I was teased about being religious almost as much as I was for being gay."

"Doesn't the Church have some issue with gay people?" asked Harry. Even in the wizarding world, whose problems with homosexuality were less than the Muggles', and none of which stemmed from religious arguments (most were to do with homosexuals not carrying on the wizarding line), Harry had heard of the issues that some religions had with homosexuality.

"Well, some do," answered Josh. "But I see no problem myself. Most of the congregation at St. Raphael's is okay with it as well." His eyebrows dipped in the ghost of a frown, and his eyes grew stern as he looked away from Harry, down at the table. "Christianity, and pretty much all religions, are about love and compassion, not hate. Anyone who persecutes anyone in the name of religion commits a grave sin, in my opinion. Jesus told his disciples to love one another, and he said: 'Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.' Most Biblical scholars take this to mean Christ's early followers, but I think it means all those who are treated badly by those who wrongly think they are evil." He looked back up. "Sorry, I'm rambling. Do say if I'm boring you."

"No, no, keep going," answered Harry, gesturing for him to continue. Josh hesitated for a moment before continuing.

"There's the fact that Jesus never said a thing about homosexuality," said Josh, beginning to count on his fingers, "and neither did any of the Jewish prophets, which is a bit at odds with the 'homosexuality is an abomination' line that some people push. And some people think that the references to homosexuality that _are _in the Bible were actually translated wrong. Like in one of St. Paul's letters, there's a sort of list of those who will not achieve salvation – and 'homosexual offenders'," Josh made inverted comma signs with his fingers, "are included in some translations. But some scholars think that the original Greek didn't actually mean 'homosexual'. Also, loads of the laws in the Old Testament forbid stuff that we all do without question, and allow things that we think are wrong. They forbid tattoos, and order a woman who is not a virgin when she's married to be stoned to death. You're not even supposed to wear clothing with more than one fabric in it. Mixing cotton and nylon is the devil's work!" He grinned. "There's also an instruction that a childless widow must bear her dead husband an heir by sleeping with each of his brothers until she gets pregnant. I think it's really awful that prohibitions against same-sex relations are singled out from these laws to be carried on into our era, while loads of others are forgotten." Josh stopped to take a breath, and gave Harry an apologetic look. "Sorry," he repeated. "I feel quite strongly about this."

"I can tell," answered Harry, smiling slightly. The waiter approached the table, carrying their meals. Harry leaned back as the plates were placed in front of them, running his fingers through his mop of hair, momentarily revealing his scar.

"Oh bugger, sorry," gasped the waiter, as his hand jerked across the table, knocking into a glass of water. "One sec, I'll get that cleaned up for you." He hurried off to the kitchen, but not before glanced with wide eyes at Harry, who frowned in concern. _What was that about?_ The waiter came back after a few minutes with a cloth to clear up the spillage, as well as a new glass of water. He cleaned up the mess in an obvious rush, and as he left Harry heard the very slight, but distinctive and unmistakeable, _pop_ of Apparition. A figure hurried across the front window of the restaurant, turning briefly, holding up a camera. Josh was talking about something, but Harry barely heard him as he started to stand, but the figure Disapparated before he had barely made it off his chair.

"Is everything okay?" asked Josh, frowning in concern. Harry sat back down heavily, nodding.

"Yeah, sorry. Just thought I saw someone…" he trailed."

"Someone you know?" asked Josh?

"Yeah," Harry lied.

"Oh, okay," said Josh.

When they had finished their meal, Harry gave Josh a lift back to his house, and walked with him to the front door. It had started to rain, quite heavily, and they huddled close together under the small roof above the door. An automatic light at the side of the door flashed purposefully into brightness, piercing the darkness and the rain as they approached.

"I had a great time tonight," breathed Josh.

"Yeah, me too."

Josh leaned in, then hesitated, before making his mind up and placing his lips lightly against Harry's.

He lingered for barely a second, but the feel of Josh's lips softly pressed against Harry's own drove all thoughts about bothersome reporters clear out of his mind. As Josh pulled away, Harry breathed in sharply, feeling something stirring deep inside him. The light flickered, only briefly, before Harry reined his magic back under his control. Josh seemed to notice nothing, and whispered a goodbye while unlocking the front door.

Harry's thoughts remained entirely diverted from the press' apparent vendetta against him the whole journey home. But as soon as he got back to his house and saw the newspaper lying in the paper recycling bin, the worries returned.

Harry wondered how soon he could expect the next article about him in the _Daily Prophet_.

xxx

But it wasn't the _Daily Prophet_. It was _Witch Weekly, _who devoted a full two-page spread to the topic in their next issue, written because of a tip-off by the brother of a Muggle-born _Witch Weekly _reporter, who worked as a waiter in the restaurant in which Harry Potter had been spotted. The article included a large picture of himself and Josh at their table in the restaurant. Harry was very glad that Josh had sat with his back to the window, so he couldn't be identified. He wasn't sure how he would explain if invasive reporters decided to interview him.

The next day Harry found a message on his answer machine inviting him to attend Josh's concert in the week before Christmas. He also received a letter from Luna, which the post owl almost dropped into his cereal, announcing, in no uncertain terms, that she would be visiting him after Christmas. Harry wasn't sure if he was pleased or worried about that. Yes, Luna was one of his closest friends, but the way she had promised to check up on him when he had left the wizarding world had sounded like a threat.

**AN: Sorry for the extreme length of time between chapters – I've had exams. Thanks to my readers and reviewers. Hoped you enjoyed it – let me know in a review (:**


	4. Chapter 4

**God Rest You**

**Disclaimer:**See Chapter 1. Neither do I own Shostakovich's Quartet No. 8, obviously. _You__really__should__listen__to__it__when__reading__this__chapter._

**Warnings:**See Chapter 1. Also some (more passionate) kissing in this chapter. Again this is partly to warn you all of the possibly horrendous attempt at romance.

**AN: Hope you enjoy this chapter :) Forgive me if there are typos. If you spot any, let me know and I'll put things right. **

**Please review!**

xxx

The deep, sorrowful strains of Josh's cello opened the first movement of Shostakovich's Quartet No. 8. He was joined in cannon by the viola, and then the violins over the cello's stable bass. The music developed, still mournful and plaintive, growing to a sudden swell that tugged at something deep within Harry's soul as he sat listening. A sudden drop in dynamic was followed by deep chords in the lower parts, as the first violin danced above them in a swirling melody. Harry's eyes skated across the performers. The first violinist sat perched at the edge of his chair, nose haughtily in the air as his beautiful melody filled the town hall. The intense expression of the second violinist, a dark haired young woman, about Harry's age, would have been almost comical, if the music hadn't been so serious. She also kept sending surreptitious glances across at the first violinist – the leader, much more frequently than anyone else, as if she were a bit neurotic. The viola player, a shorter, blonde woman, seemed slightly distracted, although the music she was playing was still beautiful. Harry's landed on Josh just as the music reach a slight release of tensions; a sweet melody playing through the first violin, yet then undermined by the continued darkness in the lower parts. Josh had his eyes closed, and looked entirely sunk into the music he was playing. His left hand rocked in a perfect slow vibrato, and he breathed in deeply, slowly. The music grew, building upwards to a cadence. As the great chords expanded into the rafters of the building, Josh's lips parted slightly, and his eyes flickered open. Harry realised he had looked at nothing else for the majority of the movement. The first movement crescendoed into the second, but Harry wasn't concentrating particularly on the music. Josh seemed less engrossed somehow, as if he had withdrawn slightly from it. His playing was no less tuneful and beautiful, but watching Josh, he seemed to _lack_ something, somehow. The quartet continued, and although the third movement almost made Harry jump out of his seat, and the fourth was terrifying and moving, Josh's spirit didn't sink back into his playing until the final movement. Its content recapitulated the first, and ended so filled with sorrow and beauty that many of the audience sitting around Harry were dabbing their eyes with their handkerchiefs.

The quartet stood to deservedly rapturous applause. They filed off the wooden stage, and the audience stood and begun to mill around, greeting friends and standing around chatting. A little elderly couple approached Harry, who thought he recognised them from somewhere.

"Harry, dear!" Harry pulled his lips into a smile, secretly racking his brains furiously for how he knew these people. "We missed you at church on Sunday." Ah, that was it. These two had introduced themselves to him when he'd visited the church a couple of weeks ago.

"Yes, sorry about that," replied Harry, grimacing slightly. "Very busy, unfortunately."

The woman, who Harry now remembered to be called Mildred, gave him a sympathetic look. "Ah well, can't always be free to do as we'd wish, now can we?" She noticed someone over his shoulder. "Oh, sorry dear, must go congratulate the players." With that they bustled off. Harry turned to face the way they'd gone, and saw Josh and the rest of the quartet surrounded by hordes of grinning congratulatory well-wishers.

He stayed where he was for the moment, gazing across the regimented rows of abandoned chairs. Eventually, after extricating himself from a particularly enthusiastic audience member, Josh looked up and saw Harry. He smiled, literally beaming. Harry beckoned him over with his head, and walked through the rows of chairs to meet Josh halfway.

"Well done," he began. "That was… really beautiful." Harry couldn't think of anything else to do justice to the way Josh had seemed to become one with the music he'd been playing.

"Thanks," Josh smiled again. "The second movement didn't go so well though, and I messed up in the fourth…" he petered off and Harry's raised eyebrow, before grinning sheepishly. "You want to come round for a bit? I need to get changed and stuff first, but if you don't mind waiting…" he sort of trailed off.

"Yeah, I'd love to come round," said Harry, putting him out of his misery. Josh grinned again, before flapping his hand in the direction of a side room and rushing off to change.

xxx

Soft lips pressed against Harry's own, and a supple arm wound around his waist. He allowed himself to be gently lowered backwards, Josh's couch giving under their combined weight. The other man leaned slightly over him, one hand on the back of his head, the other supporting himself. Josh's slightly smaller body moved slowly against him, in time with the movement of their lips. Musicians are the sexiest of people, thought Harry, as things stirred deeply inside him in response to Josh's rhythmic motions. Harry let out an involuntary gasp. The dim light of the lamp beside the settee flickered violently as Harry's magic flexed and twitched suddenly out of control. Josh sat up abruptly and frowned.

"Odd," he muttered. He reached over Harry and gave the lamp a tap. Its light remained steady.

"A slight blip in the power supply, maybe?" suggested Harry. Josh pushed out his lower lip and shrugged.

"Could be…" but he was cut off as Harry caught his lips in a kiss again. But the moment Josh responded in kind, Harry's magic once again buckled, and the lights from the kitchen flashed angrily, before dimming, and the tabletop lamp flared brightly before blowing out completely.

"Oh, I'm sorry," gulped Harry, forgetting himself for a moment.

Josh gave him an odd look. "It's not your fault." He pulled himself delicately off of the couch. "I'm just going to check the fuse box. Help yourself to something to drink or eat if you want."

When Josh had left the room, Harry ran his fingers anxiously through his hair. He wasn't quite sure why his magic was bucking his control so much. Sure, a little flickering, but blowing a bulb?

He thought it might be a combination of the fact that he hadn't had much companionship over the past few months, as well as his not giving his magic a consistent outlet.

When Josh had returned from checking the fuse box, again shrugging and shaking his head in bewilderment, it was safe to say that Harry's troublesome magic had well and truly killed the mood. In the end it didn't matter though. They spent the rest of the evening curled together on the couch, watching an old romantic film – something which in itself could have been taken directly from an old romantic film. Harry silently chuckled to himself. Ron would probably punch him if he saw him being so soppy.

xxx

Josh was spending Christmas with his family, so Harry began readying himself to spend the festival alone. He'd got used to great communal Christmases at Hogwarts, but the Christmases he'd spent with the Dursleys had prepared him perfectly for this.

However, on Christmas Eve, after it had gotten dark, his doorbell chimed. Fully expecting annoying carol singers, Harry grabbed his wallet on his way, anticipating having to make some sort of donation.

But when he reached the door and swung it open, there stood Luna Lovegood, sporting a thick woollen hat, replete with three very large bobbles, a fluffy purple coat and a pink scarf with knitted reindeer actually running through the weave, and carrying a sizeable paper bag.

"There you go, Harry," she said absently, dropping the paper bag into his arms, before breezing in past him. Harry followed, slightly bemused, closing the door behind him.

"There's a Christmas lunch in that bag," Luna called from the kitchen. "And your present's in there somewhere. I do hope it's survived the gurdyroot compote."

"The what?" Harry entered the kitchen and placed the bag onto the table with a muffled thump.

"Gurdyroot compote is quite a delicacy, I'll have you know," Luna sounded rather indignant as she bustled about the kitchen, gathering equipment for making tea. She hadn't even removed her outdoor clothes yet. "It's freezing in your house, Harry." She seemed to read his mind. She flicked her wand from an inner pocket of her coat and brandished it at the embers in the fireplace, which had slowly been dying a death, but now roared back to life. Warmth filled the kitchen and Luna sighed contentedly, shrugging off her jacket. Harry had settled into one of the chairs around the small dining table, content to watch Luna zoom around his kitchen, but now she rounded on him. Harry felt an involuntary flicker of fear. He was never quite sure what Luna would ever do next. She was the most unpredictable person he'd ever met.

"So tell me Harry Potter," she began, lowering herself into a chair opposite him with two mugs of tea. "How _are_you?" She said it in such a way that Harry was sure 'I'm fine thanks' would not have done as an answer.

"I thought you were coming after Christmas," inquired Harry, which, to him, seemed like a very neat sidestep from Luna's too personal question.

"I got bored waiting for Christmas to come and go," she answered, shrugging, before narrowing her eyes at him. "Don't avoid the question."

Oh, not so neat a sidestep then.

"I dunno," hedged Harry. "I may have…"

"Yes…?" she prodded, without sympathy. Luna was unrelenting.

"I might have, you know… met someone?" Harry was unsure why he'd phrased it like a question. It'd seemed appropriate at the time.

Luna's demeanour changed dramatically. Her eyes widened in surprise, and she leaped from her seat, almost knocking over her mug of tea. What she did next would best be described as _flapping_. She bounded up and down, waving her hands about, before descending upon Harry and wrapping him in the tightest hug she could muster.

"Do tell, do tell!" she started to punch him lightly on the arm, her face expectant.

Harry sighed. He knew he'd never get out of this one.

xxx

Luna decided that she'd stay over Christmas, so she could meet Josh and decide for herself if he was worthy of Harry. The next day, Christmas Day, Harry decided to attend the service at the church. He took Luna along with him, who seemed as fascinated as Arthur Weasley by the Muggles' 'quaint customs'. The parishioners were very pleased to see him, especially as he'd brought someone else along – more possibility to bring new people into the fold. Harry had to explain a number of times that, no, he and Luna were not an item, which eventually got quite tiresome, especially when Luna noticed that it annoyed him and decided to link her arm with his and call him 'darling' very loudly.

Luna laid out an impressive spread at lunchtime. Harry had tried to lend her a hand, but she promptly snapped at him and flicked his ear – something she liked to do, it seemed. The gurdyroot compote wasn't quite as horrid as Harry had expected it to be. In fact when mixed with crushed raspberries and dunked in burnt honey, as Luna suggested he did, it was actually quite tasty. It was only afterwards that Luna saw fit to inform him that such a mixture imitated quite successfully the effects of an Inebriating Potion, so Harry spent the rest of Christmas Day tottering around as if he'd drunk an entire pub.

That evening, thankfully after most of the effects of Luna's ill-advised delicacy had worn off, the phone rang.

"Hello," said Harry, lifting the receiver to his ear.

"Hi Harry, it's Josh."

"Oh, hi Josh." Harry couldn't help grinning.

"Is that _him?_" Luna half screamed as she leaped over furniture to reach Harry and the telephone. Harry had to fend her off with one hand as he tried to talk.

"Sorry about that Josh, I have a friend staying who's literally _dying_to meet you." He looked pointed at Luna on 'dying', and she backed off slightly, but still jumped on the balls of her feet and pulled faces at him.

"The day after tomorrow? Yes I'm free." Harry continued, trying not to be distracted by Luna's bug-eyed looks.

"Sure, I'll see you then. Happy Christmas." He put the phone down and turned to glare at Luna.

"If you've quite finished!"

"Oh Harry!" she cried, ignoring him. She pulled him into another of her very tight hugs. "He sounds very nice."

Harry frowned. "You couldn't hear him."

"Of course not," she answered. "But when he spoke all the Nargles left your brain. He must be nice. And you must really like him."

xxx

Harry's meeting with Josh the day after Boxing Day went rather smoothly, quite to Harry's surprise. Josh was slightly bowled over by Luna's enthusiasm, but he soon warmed to her. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that the only reason for this was the fact that Luna had had to tone her craziness down slightly for the benefit of the Muggle, so comments about Heliopaths and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks were notably absent.

Harry and Josh spent a lot of time together over the next week, and once Luna left, albeit grudgingly (threatening – or promising – to tell all Harry's friends about Josh), they were able to spend even more time alone in each other's company.

When New Year's Eve rolled around, Harry and Josh were invited to a party thrown by Mike, one of Josh's friends. They danced together under the watchful gaze of several awing female friends of Josh who reminded Harry distinctly of Luna. The kissed at midnight, and watched Mike's carefully choreographed firework display.

They left the party absolutely knackered, and Harry offered to walk Josh home. They chatted as they walked, their breath crystallising in the cool air in front them, and it began to snow. The moon hung full and beautiful above, casting radiant shadows which glittered against the pale snow.

Harry didn't want to leave, and his lips lingered on Josh's as he kissed him goodbye. But he didn't know how much was too much, and wasn't sure whether he could ask to stay over.

So, reluctantly, Harry trudged away down the road.

Josh locked his door behind him, not bothering to turn on the light. The house was silent and comfortingly warm around him as he removed his hat and gloves. He tugged his greatcoat off, hanging it on the peg to his left, just visible in the half light. He left his shoes on the neat little rack before heading for the stairs, resolved to get straight into bed. Tripping slightly on a wayward shoe as he crossed the hall, he giggled, wondering whether he may have had a teensy bit too much to drink.

"_Not just a Muggle, but an incompetent Muggle."_

Josh immediately snapped out of his jollity, casting around the darkened room. Panic rose in his throat, and he struggled to swallow it back down.

"Who are you? What do you want?" he called, trying to sound braver than he felt.

A low chuckle sounded. "A feisty one I see. I was beginning to wonder what Potter saw in you." The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once, and Josh's eyes frantically darted around, trying to find the speaker. He backed himself up against the nearest wall, determined not to be snuck up on. As he did so, the top of the staircase came into view. A figure stood at the top, leaning nonchalantly against the banister. He wore a black, old-fashioned cloak, and a skull-like silver mask. The figure descended the stairs slowly, removing something from a pocket inside his cloak. Josh turned to properly face him. The figure raised the thing he held in his hand.

It was… a stick.

Incredulity replaced Josh's panic, and he snorted loudly.

"You're attacking me with a stick?"

"Awww," drawled a female voice from behind him. "Potter hasn't told the poor little Muggle."

Josh's incredulity gave way to confusion as he whirled around to face this new threat. Twice now they'd called him that funny name, and twice they'd mentioned Harry. The woman behind him wore exactly the same get-up as the man on the stairs. Josh glanced between the two, unsure which one to face.

"What's a Muggle? What's Harry got to do with this?" He began to shiver, despite the warmth.

Both laughed, the sound cutting brazenly through the silent air.

"I don't suppose he'll work it out, do you?" The woman's voice was a horrid parody of an impatient mother's.

The man snorted in answer, and flicked his stick in Josh's general direction. He felt something cold settle against his skin. Frozen with fear, he was unable to move as the woman reached a hand out to cup his cheek. She stroked it, making tiny cooing noises, like one would calm a baby. Then Josh realised. He wasn't just too scared to move. He _couldn__'__t_move. Try as he might, his legs would not obey his mind. His arms were paralysed, and he couldn't stop looking into the insane eyes that stared out at him from behind the mask. Then, horrified, he realised that he was beginning to lose feeling in his limbs. The woman laughed quietly in his ear, before stepping away abruptly, moving to stand beside the man.

"Remove the hex," she said, gesturing at Josh with her chin.

Josh's mind had reeled at the word 'hex', but that was nothing compared to the terror he felt at what she said next.

"Let me have some fun."

The man raised his stick again, muttering a string of words, and Josh's body relaxed. Suddenly he could feel his body again. His heart was pounding like a drum, adrenalin rushing through his system. Turning suddenly, he made a dash for his front door.

Behind him, the woman let out a bark of laughter.

"_Crucio!__"_ she hissed.

And Josh's world exploded with pain.

Screaming, he dropped to the floor. He could barely hear the manic laughter of his torturer, but he felt when the man joined in. The pain doubled, and Josh writhed uncontrollably in the floor. It was the worst pain he'd ever felt. His eyeballs were on fire, his brain dowsed with acid. His body felt as if it were engulfed in a sea of molten rock, and every single one of his bones seemed to break a thousand times a second. He screamed again, grabbing his head, curling into a ball to try and shield himself. But evidently this wasn't possible, as the pain didn't stop. If anything, it got worse, and the laughter got louder.

Then suddenly, it stopped. Josh, breathing heavily, slowly turned to face his assailants. They grinned down at him, having removed their masks. The woman would have been quite pretty, had her face not been contorted into such a horrible grimace. The man had a shiny scar down the side of his face, and manically wide eyes.

"Having fun, Muggle?"

Josh gasped, unable to form words. The grins got wider, and again their lips pronounced that word.

"_Crucio.__"_

xxx

Turning the corner out of Josh's road, Harry stopped suddenly. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. He shivered, and something slippery seemed to brush against his very core. Harry was very familiar with the feeling left by dark magic, and seeming to discoverer a hereto unknown talent for Divination, he knew exactly where it was coming from.

xxx

Josh gritted his teeth, determined not to scream. But the searing agony built and built, worse and worse, until it was almost impossible.

Then the air in front of him buckled and cracked like a bullet, and a figure burst into being. The pain stopped abruptly as the two focussed their attention on the newcomer.

"_Potter!_" spat the women.

Josh, despite his aching bones, looked up. Harry was indeed standing in front of him. He was unmistakable, even through the lingering haze of pain. Josh was terrified for him, but then he raised his hand. Clenched in his fist was a weapon exactly like that of the attackers. Red light burst from it, hurtling across the hallway. The other two dodged, immediately returning fire. Josh watched transfixed as Harry seemed to dance around their attacks, parrying some with an angry flick of his weapon, and casting more of his own in return. The hallway was ablaze with light and colour. Deafening crashes and cracks echoed continuously.

The woman turned suddenly, screaming two words. A jet of sickly green light hurtled towards Harry. Almost calmly, Harry gestured with his free hand at a shoe lying on the ground. It leapt into the air, absorbing the green blast and bursting into flame. Cutting the air as if with a knife, Harry also spoke two words. The woman went rigid, arms and legs strapping together, and fell to the floor with a crash. Another angry gesture and a beam of bright red light sent the man crashing backwards into the stairs, weapon falling from his limp fingers.

Immediately Harry turned and crouched next to Josh.

"Josh!" Harry lifted him by the shoulders, holding his limp body tightly to himself. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he repeated over and over, and only stopped when Josh placed a hand over his mouth.

"Shh, Harry. I'm more confused than hurt now. The pain of the thing they did doesn't seem to last long." Harry nodded. He knew first hand, Josh realised. "You probably saved my life. Don't be sorry."

"But it's my fault!" Harry sobbed.

Josh frowned. " How could this possibly be your fault?"

"I…" Harry began, but at a sound from the next room he trailed off. Standing cautiously, he raised his weapon.

The door to the kitchen exploded outwards. Bounding through the dust was a huge deformed wolf. It leaped straight for Josh, vast jaws gaping.

"_NO!__"_ screamed Harry.

His anger and fear poured through his wand as he brandished it, and a great wall of flame blasted across the hall.

The werewolf howled in agony, fur ablaze, hurling itself away from Josh and Harry. It jumped at the front door, splintering it, and Fenrir Greyback disappeared into the night.

Exultant, Harry turned to Josh.

Who lay shaking on the floor, face as white as snow, his hands wrapped around his side.

"No no no no no no," Harry whispered in despair as he dropped to his knees and pulled Josh's arms away.

A violently deep bite mark was embedded into his flesh, weeping blood.


	5. Chapter 5

**God Rest You**

**Disclaimer: **See Chapter 1

**Warnings: **See Chapter 1

**Please review!**

xxx

A cavernous wound gaped in Josh's stomach. Blood flowed freely from the torn flesh, staining the white woollen rug on which he lay a deep red.

Harry knelt by his side, sobbing quietly. His wand was out, dancing nervously over the bite wound. Words were springing unbidden to his mind – words heard so long ago, on that dreadful day when he'd almost murdered Draco Malfoy. Professor Snape had sung softly over Draco's mutilated body – a soft crooning song which had drawn the spilt blood back into the boy's mending body. And just as the blood had flowed back into Draco's veins, so the same song flowed from Harry's lips. The stain on the rug was drying up, the blood seeping into the wound on Josh's side. Josh's laboured breathing was calming, his chest moving more regularly.

But Harry stopped before the wound closed completely. A small gash was left, ringed by savage tooth marks. The skin around the scars left by the bite was slowly turning silvery-white, almost translucent. With a sinking heart, Harry recognised the signs of the passing of the lycanthrope's curse. But even in his despair, and knowing it was of absolutely no use, he turned his wand again upon the cut, and intoned every spell of cleansing, purification and protection that he had ever learned. Bright blue light flashed from his wand, engulfing Josh's body. A girdle of silver radiance formed around the entrance to the wound, sending anxious bursts of magic into Josh's body. But to no avail, for the wound began to close by itself, the rapid healing of the werewolf on the night of the full moon already manifesting itself in Josh's system. Josh's eyes widened with terror at the sight of his wound closing itself. Harry spun away from him with a desperate cry, turning his attention to the two fallen Death Eaters. He took the wands from both, and after checking for any other weapons, placed them both into an enchanted sleep. The werewolf itself had long since disappeared into the night.

Harry turned back to Josh. The other man's face was as white as thick fog, his eyes wide but the irises glazed over. He was staring across the hallway at Harry, before his eyes rolled backwards into his skull, his neck gave way and his head flopped to the floor. Harry rushed to his side, but Josh had blacked out. Harry levitated his body into a more comfortable position, and conjured a pillow for his head. Wracked with horror, Harry leaped to his feet. He twisted on his heel, loath to leave Josh, but unable to think of any other option.

With a _crack_, he vanished, and reappeared in the bustling reception of St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. The vast hall was filled to the brim with wizards and witches in various states of inebriation; New Year's Eve was clearly a busy night for the hospital. The sounds of people in pain, drunken noises (including some very bad singing) and some unexplainable wailing simply washed over him without his knowledge or attention. He ignored the shocked looks of those sober enough to notice and care, and pushed his way to the front of a very long queue leading to the reception desk.

"I must see a Healer!" he gasped out over the complaints of the rabble he'd pushed in front of. "My friend… werewolf bite!"

The eyes of the young wizard at the desk widened as he recognised Harry, his eyes travelling briefly up to his forehead. His mouth opened, and he took an excruciatingly long time to reply.

"Um… If you wouldn't mind filling out these, er, forms, Mr Potter, please…" The Welcome Wizard pushed a number of pastel-coloured sheets of parchment across the desk towards Harry.

Harry stared at him open mouthed, before regathering his wits and ignoring the receptionist and his bloody forms completely. Rushing across the busy room, he reached the sweeping staircase at the opposite end. He ascended as if chased by a Blast-Ended Skrewt, desperately grasping at the banister for support, before reaching the much quieter first floor. A large panel announced it as the department dealing with creature-induced injuries. His feet seemed to remember the path they had taken years previously, when he had visited Mr Weasley in the Dai Llewellyn Ward, specialist in dealing with dangerous bites. He burst into the ward, knocking aside a passing Assistant Healer as he did so. Inside, the ward was darkened, the small number of patients all sleeping in curtained off booths. At the far end of the small room stood a cluttered desk, with a little sign reading '_Healer Augustus Pye_'. A man who was presumably Healer Pye himself was sitting bolt upright behind it, having jerked upwards at Harry's violent entry into the room.

"Er… May I help you?" asked the young-looking healer.

"Yes!" gasped Harry, his dash up the steep flight of stairs catching up with him. "My friend has been bitten by a werewolf…" he trailed off, realising just how long he'd been away. He was beginning to feel rather numb. He glanced at his watch. Half one in the morning. Over a quarter of an hour since Josh was attacked.

But Healer Pye was already on his feet, rummaging through a small cabinet to the right of his desk. He withdrew a large bottle filled with a smoky blue liquid.

"Ives," he called, gesturing to the Assistant whom Harry had knocked aside in his haste. "Stay in the ward. Call for Healer Smythwick if there are any problems." The Assistant nodded, settling herself in the seat which Pye had just vacated.

"This is quite contrary to protocol, Mr Potter." He held out an arm, raising an eyebrow. "Where are we going?"

Harry wordlessly grasped Pye's elbow in a tight grip, before Disapparating.

xxx

"I must commend you on your Healing work, Mr Potter," mumbled Augustus Pye as he inspected the now unconscious body of Josh. "A highly advanced piece of spell-work, that. May I ask who you learnt it from?"

Harry was pacing, wringing his hands together.

"Er… Severus Snape," he answered. Pye nodded in reply, before standing, slapping his palms against his thighs.

"Right, first things first. The lycanthropy has clearly been transferred from the sirewolf into Mr Peverell's body. He will, as the moon starts to sink, begin his first transformation. It will be the longest and most painful of all his transformations, and no amount of Wolfsbane Potion will quench his agony." Harry blanched. "But it will hopefully allow him to retain his human mind after the change." At this, Pye handed Harry the large bottle of blue potion. "Get as much of this into him as possible. He won't like it, and he will most likely throw it up, but try your best." Harry took careful hold of the bottle, which was warm between his fingers. Healer Pye gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. "I'll be back in a moment. If he wakes before I return, start feeding him the potion."

Pye turned towards the small fireplace, from which Harry had torn the electric fire and had set up a temporary connection to the Flew Network. The Healer stepped through the emerald flames, and was gone.

In the cold and the dark, Harry sat by Josh. He lifted his head to cradle it in his arms. When he began to shiver, Harry fumbled for his wand, and cast spells for light and heat. The ruined hallway was suddenly illuminated. Photos on the walls stared down at them, accusingly, their happy grins transformed into grimaces of guilt. Harry screwed his eyes shut.

Suddenly shaking, Josh gasped.

"Josh!" Harry's eyes snapped open.

"Harry… I- I don't…" he stammered, breathing heavily.

Harry hurriedly shushed him, holding his head between his hands as gently as he could.

"I'm so sorry, Josh. I'm so sorry…" he began to sob quietly, but Josh finger was suddenly against his lips.

"Shhh, Harry." It was clearly an immense effort on Josh's part to lift his hand to Harry's face, so Harry took his hand in his own. "I don't…" he drew a heaving breath. "I don't understand… what happened tonight, but I- I do know that it can't possibly be your fault."

A tear escaped Harry's left eye and rolled down his cheek.

He brushed it away, remembering what he had to do. "You need to drink this, Josh." he reached for the potion that the Healer had left. "It is going to be disgusting, but you need to drink all of it."

Josh opened his mouth, his eyes trusting, and Harry raised the glass bottle to his lips. Josh's face grew gradually more and more contorted with disgust as the potion seared down his throat, spluttering and coughing more than once when it became too much.

He pushed the bottle away when it was just over half finished.

"I'm gonna puke."

Harry helped him to sit upright, supporting his weak back with one hand, while holding tightly onto Josh's hand with the other. Josh gulped, heaving slightly, but ultimately managed to keep the potion down.

"Well done," whispered Harry, rubbing circles against Josh's back. He lowered him back to the floor. "Are you comfortable?" he asked.

"I'm a little cold," whispered Josh. Harry drew out his wand, glanced at Josh – who had started slightly at the sight of it – and moved it in a complex pattern in the air above the other man. A woollen blanket, bedecked with blue and green tartan stripes, spun into being and settled around Josh's shivering body.

"Right, I see you've managed to get him to drink the Wolfsbane then." Harry's head snapped up. He hadn't even heard the Healer enter through the fire. "Does everything seem to be in order?"

"He was just complaining about being cold," said Harry, trying to retain some semblance of composure.

"Ah, the transformation is beginning."

"What!" Josh gasped, barely able to lift his head.

"Not to worry, Mr Peverell, the change itself will not begin for a good hour at least. You are merely in the preliminary stages. Your body is diverting energy away from other faculties, such as staying warm, in order to fuel the transformation."

Two Aurors followed the Healer through the fireplace.

"Mr Potter," announced the more senior of the two. "We will be wanting a word."

"Wait!" Joshed called weakly. "What transformation? What's going on?"

"This is a situation in which you are permitted to break the Statute of Secrecy, Mr Potter," continued Auror Number One.

Harry ignored him completely, and everyone else in the room, looking only at Josh.

"I'm sorry, Josh, for everything," he began. Josh tried to scold him for apologising again, but Harry shushed him. "You might well not believe what I'm going to tell you." He hesitated briefly, before deciding just to come out with it. "You were attacked by a werewolf. You were bitten, and the werewolf curse was transferred. Every full moon, including tonight, you will transform."

Josh's lips were parted slightly, and all he said was: "Oh."

"But there are potions, to help you through it…"

"Potions? Is that what I drank before?"

"Er… yes." Replied Harry. Josh nodded slowly, his face pale.

"I see." He said.

"I can explain more in the morning. But for now I want you to focus on getting through tonight." While Harry was gratefully pleased that Josh seemed to be taking all this so calmly, he wanted him to grasp the urgency and seriousness of the situation.

"I'm sure I can. With you here." Josh smiled weakly and squeezed Harry's hand. Harry smiled back, but then felt a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Mr Potter, but I really must insist. We have important matters to discuss." Auror Number One, who had a large handlebar moustache, was frowning severely. Auror Number Two seemed to be doing a little nervous dance. Reluctantly, Harry stood, and left with the Aurors into the adjacent room. "Let's get you somewhere more comfortable," Healer Pye was saying to Josh as the door closed behind him.

xxx

Harry sat in the kitchen, nursing a mug of coffee. According to the Aurors and their detection spells, it seemed as if Greyback had been held under some sort of caging charm set by the Death Eaters who had attacked Josh (who were now on their way to Azkaban), but when Harry stunned them, the charm was released. The Aurors had left minutes ago with a parting promise to return the next day with more thrice-damned _questions_. And apparently they'd be bringing someone from the Department of Mysteries – something to do with no recent cases of Muggle lycanthropy, and a need to research it. They had also promised to search the vicinity for Fenrir Greyback, adding annoyingly sagely that the burns Harry inflicted upon him should mean that he couldn't have gotten far. Healer Pye had returned to the hospital, there being not much more he could do. He had managed to coax Josh into drinking a little more Wolfsbane, but the bottle still had a quarter of the liquid left. Harry would have been in the living room with him, where he lay on the couch, but Josh had tired of his fussing, and ordered him to go and make himself something to drink.

Fraught with anxiety, Harry stood up from the stool, determined to return to Josh to make this as easy for him as possible.

A high scream split the night air.

The coffee mug slipped from Harry hands and crashed to the floor, smashing instantly and spilling steaming brown liquid everywhere. He dashed through the door, down the hall, and into the living room.

It was deserted. The blanket was on the floor by the couch, as if thrown off in haste. A lamp by the door had been knocked over and lay smashed on the floor. Harry cast a brief look around the room, but it was clear that Josh was not here.

"Josh!" Harry called frantically. He turned back into the hall, anxiously scanning the room. Sucking in a breath that almost stopped his heart, he noticed that the front door was ajar. He ran to it, threw it open. A single line of bare footprints in the snow led away from the door. Harry ran in pursuit, shivering furiously in the freezing air. The footprints were uneven, sometimes scuffling, churning up the snow, sometimes spaced out, as if Josh had taken great leaping strides. There were frequently hand prints alongside those of his bare feet.

The prints led towards the outskirts of the small town. They turned a street corner, and straight away Harry saw were Josh had been heading. At the top of a small snow covered hill sat the church of St Raphael. Raphael, the Archangel of Healing. Harry raced towards it, kicking aside snow in flurries, past the ancient graveyard overshadowed by yew trees. He panted as he reached the church itself, noticing with foreboding that the iron bolt across the old, heavy door had been ripped off. Clearly, the transformation was advanced enough for the werewolf's strength to manifest. Harry ran inside, pulling the door shut behind him. He drew his wand, aiming it at the door's old latch. "_Reparo_", he muttered, and the latch sprang back into place. "_Colloportus_", and the door locked with a squelching noise.

Harry turned into the main body of the church itself, past the cheerful Sunday School displays and the ancient stone font. Josh had collapsed in a whimpering heap in the dark beyond the transepts, at the threshold of the chancel. Before him rose the altar, the plain wooden cross which adorned it standing like a still sentinel in the darkness.

Harry sprinted down the short nave, skidding to a halt next to Josh's shivering form. He knelt down beside him, and Josh's head snapped sideways to look at him. His skin glistened with a sheen of sweat, and his eyes were clouded and milky.

"Harry!" he whispered, voice cracking and gasping. "It hurts!"

"I know, I know," Harry replied, trying to keep his voice as calming as possible. He reached for Josh, who grasped his arms in a vice-like grip. Harry drew the other man close to himself, wrapping his arms around him. Josh was shaking violently, the tremors starting at the base of his spine and spreading outwards, until his entire body was wracked with painful shudders. Harry murmured what he hoped were soothing sounds. He glanced at the altar and, seeing the candles at either end, lit them with a wave of his hand. The altar became an island of light in the dark building.

A great new pain suddenly bloomed between Josh's shoulder blades, and his back arched involuntarily, ripping himself from Harry's grip. He screamed, the harsh sound resounding in the cold air of the church. Collapsing to the stone floor, he threw his arms outwards. His fists were clawing, elongating, the nails becoming talons. His feet were suffering the same fate, great claws bursting from his toes. He rocked jarringly to his front, howling in pain. His arms jerked in front of him, pushing himself up to all fours. Harry backed off slightly. Josh's back arched again and cracked, stretching and growing. His shirt started to rip. His eyes, which had been clenched shut, now snapped open, gazing at something over Harry's shoulder. Glancing round, Harry saw that Josh was staring at the cross upon the altar, illuminated by the glow from the two candles. Josh reared upwards, arms outstretched, face contorted with pain. His lips parted.

"_Mother_!" He screamed. And Harry knew he wasn't calling for his real mother, but was begging for help from the One beyond.

With another cry, Josh fell to the ground and started to writhe in pain. His face began to elongate, becoming a snout. The bones in his limbs cracked and reformed, bending in unnatural places. Fur started to show through the rips in his ruined clothing. His scream became a snarl, then a howl. His eyes never left the wooden cross.

Finally, he collapsed. A great silver wolf lay sprawled on the steps before the altar, eyes shut, sleeping.

xxx

**AN: Sorry for the long wait, hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please leave a review to let me know. The next chapter will probably be the last (I only ever intended this to be quite short one), but there might be a sequel. **

**PS. Is anyone else having real trouble with the new safety code captcha thingies. I can't read the vast majority of them at all :(**


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